


Dos Hombres

by orphan_account



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just how close were Paul Newman and Robert Redford during the first part of the filming of 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' as they got to know each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dos Hombres

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



No matter how he thinks about it – how it takes the thought and twists it in his mind, rewording it in an attempt to make it more understandable – Robert still can’t believe it. It just doesn’t make any logical sense.

 

It is six-thirty in the morning, and not only is he awake, but he is _at work_. Which idiot declared that work on a movie set should start – and end – at such ungodly hours of the day and night?

 

“Hello, everyone!”

 

That jovial voice assaulting his ears is enough to make Robert want to be violently ill. Where the hell does this Newman character get this odd morning attitude? It was like Newman _enjoyed_ getting up at the crack of dawn or something.

 

“Hi, Bob!”

 

Newman’s overly (and, Robert thinks, _intentionally_ ) lazy Ohio drawl pulls on the vowel, twisting it out of shape until the word resembles ‘Baawb’. Before Hollywood, Robert had never hated his relatives’ choice to christen him ‘Bobby’ as a child. ‘Bobby’ equals ‘Bob’ and it just sounds pretentious in this town. Why couldn’t they have picked ‘Robbie’ instead?

 

“Hey, Paul,” Robert says, trying to sound pleasant and kind, despite the dark cloud hovering above his head, a mixture of tiredness and a frustration with a cause he’s unable to put his finger on.

 

“Mr. Newman! Mr. Newman!”

 

 _Oh, great._ Robert thinks. Paul’s People have arrived. Wonderful. It’s a disturbing little posse of agents, producers, advertisers and hangers-on that run around after Newman, and Robert finds himself amused, fascinated and repulsed all at once by the sight of it, especially as he watches the agent’s assistant lean right in close to Newman as she speaks to him in a whisper so low it’s as if she passing along state secrets. _Ridiculous,_ Robert thinks, even as he finds himself wondering what they are saying.

 

****

 

It was actually the agent’s assistant who had introduced Newman to Robert a few weeks back at the meet-and-greet ‘party’ that Paul’s People had set up as a pre-production kick-off, so to speak.

 

“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Redford, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Newman,” she said, her words quick, her voice impersonal.

 

“Thank you, Miss…” he trailed off, expecting her to supply him with some form of name or title to refer to her by; she didn’t.

 

Instead, she said, “Mr. Newman has been looking forward to meeting you in person.” Her eyes still hadn’t met his. Robert wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or offended.

 

“Likewise,” is all Robert can think to say.

 

“Mr. _New_ man!” the woman suddenly yells, voice shrill, the pitch high enough that Robert was sure that all the dogs within earshot would be howling in agony. “Mr. Redford is here!”

 

“You can call me Robert, you kn–” Robert begins to tell her, but is cut off by Newman himself.

 

“Ah, so _this_ is my infamous co-star-to-be!”

 

“That’s me,” Robert says, trying hard not to sound as irritable as he is underneath, but finds that looking Newman directly in the face, not in a photograph or on celluloid, is quite a shock. Most people are uglier in real life than on screen. Newman is an exception…a very _obvious_ exception. For a moment, Robert actually curses himself for not agreeing to get his nose ‘fixed’ and those three irritating moles scraped off. Robert knows he’s certainly not ugly, but Newman hasn’t got a flaw on him.

 

Newman smiles at him in a way that Robert knows is designed to be disarming, but finds himself charmed nonetheless. “I remember seeing you in _Barefoot in the Park_ , you know.” Newman tells him. “You were very good.”

 

To his irritation, Robert can feel the familiar heat of embarrassment trickling up his neck, and thanks all the deities he can think of for his current tan. “Uh, thank you,” he replies. “I’m flattered.”

 

“As you should be!” Newman says in that jovial tone of his. “You have this amazing talent for comedy and farce that I…well, I just don’t have, I’m afraid.” His tone changes, and he mutters darkly, “As I’m sure we’re all about to find out when we start filming this fucker.”

 

Robert isn’t sure what to be more shocked about: the sudden change in tone from sickening sunniness to unsettling darkness, or Newman’s use of the word ‘fucker’ in a sentence.

 

“But everything will be just great, I’m sure!” Newman adds after a moment, so happy again that Robert wonders if this new co-star of his is on mood-altering drugs. Wanting to keep the upper hand as to how Robert thinks of him, Newman smiles that disarming, charming smile again.

 

 _Hmmph,_ Robert thinks. _Two can play this game._ Robert smiles back at Newman, and the other man raises his eyebrows, surprised – and amused – to see his own trick being used against him.

 

But smiles back nevertheless.

 

*****

 

 _Why the hell does it always have to be Mexico?_ Robert thinks disgustedly as he takes in his surroundings, the oppressive heat enough to make him dizzy.

 

“Jesus Christ, it’s hot down here!” Paul is waving his script back and forth, but the light breeze the movement produces does nothing to ease the sweat building up near Paul’s hairline.

 

“You’d feel cooler if you didn’t bother with the fanning,” Robert says. “Heat’s so bad you’re doing nothing but wasting energy. We need one of those big industrial fans to break through this.”

 

“How about an air conditioner?”

 

Robert smirks at him. “Ah, the attitudes of the affluent. Fans are cheaper.”

 

“They work better, too.” Paul says. “Fucking air-cons at home are always breaking down. Repairman makes a fortune out of us, although I think Joanne likes him coming over all the time.” Paul’s voice has turned dark again, his eyes troubled.

 

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Robert hears himself saying, unsure as to why the hell he’s comforting Paul for. But then…well, he can’t help himself: “She worked so hard to get her claws into you in the first place I hardly think she’d risk losing you by fucking the repairman.”

 

Paul looks at Robert strangely for a moment, like he’s grown an extra head. But then – to Robert’s surprise – he starts laughing like it’s all a great joke. “I hope that you’re right about that, Bob. Because I’m arrogant enough that I’d be pissed off about adultery.”

 

Robert can only sit there with his mouth hanging open as Paul walks away.

 

*****

 

When George appears about half an hour later, he is obviously in a foul mood, and Robert is silly enough to ask him what’s troubling him.

 

“Morons at the studio got the bookings for the accommodation wrong!” George says irritably. “We’ve been booked into the wrong motel!”

 

“Uh…is that bad?” Robert asks, not really sure what the problem is.

 

“Newman’s gonna be fucking pissed off is what’s wrong!” George squashed his half-finished cigarette under his boot like it was the cause of all his troubles.

 

“What, are cheaper motels beneath them or something?” Robert asks, annoyed.

 

“No, but having to share a room is!”

 

It takes a moment for Robert a moment to process what George has just said. “What?” is all he can think of to say.

 

“Connie and Katharine are going to have to share a room, the A.D. and I will have to share, and you and Paul are going to have to share a room at the motel, because the damn studio screwed up!” George yells like Robert is deaf, dumb and blind. “Everyone is gonna be shitty about this, and we have enough problems as it is!” George kicks at the ground. “Shit!”    

 

But Robert hardly hears a word George is saying, because _“You and Paul are going to have to share a room at the motel”_ keeps running through his head. _“You and Paul are going to have to share a room at the motel.”_

And all Robert can think is, _shit._

 

*****

 

“I gather that you’ve heard?”

 

Robert turns his head at the sound of Paul’s voice. “About what?”

 

Paul smirks. “The Hotel Situation, as George keeps referring to it as.”

 

“Oh, yeah. About an hour ago.”

 

Paul nods as he lights a cigarette, the dying sunlight catching on the silver lighter. “Eh, I don’t see what the fuck he’s so worried about,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “It won’t be so bad so long as no one gets the runs.”

 

“You don’t mind sharing with me, then, Mr. Superstar?” Robert asks, thankful for the sarcasm in his voice that he doesn’t quite feel.

 

Paul smiles. “You’re all right.” Paul pauses for a moment, and Robert finds himself looking directly into his eyes.

 

Robert laughs a little, trying to break the spell. “Yeah, I guess. It’s not like we’ll be sleeping in the same bed or anything.”

 

Paul smiles again, and Robert feels prickles of heat run up his arm. “I guess not.”

 

*****

  

“What do you think of me?” Paul asks as he and Robert are playing cards later that week.

 

“What do you mean by that?” Robert asks, busying himself with rearranging his hand.

 

“Just what I said,” Paul says. “What do you think of me?”

 

“Uh…” Robert trails off, and finds himself looking at Paul despite his efforts. Paul is smiling at him, but not the powerfully charismatic smile he is used to seeing on Paul’s lips, the one designed to manipulate people and their emotions. This, Robert thinks, must be Paul’s real smile, the smile of Paul Newman the man, rather than Paul Newman, Movie Star. “Uh, I guess…I like you, I guess…”

 

“Why?”

 

Robert raises his eyebrows. “You care?” he asks, incredulous.

 

“I might.” Paul says, his tone of voice betraying him.

 

“Give me a good reason to tell you and I might.” Robert says evenly.

 

Paul looks at him for a moment, obviously surprised, before he laughs. “You are one stubborn…” His eyes return to Robert’s and he trails off. “You’re perceptive. You seem to know what’s bullshit and what isn’t…” Paul smiles at this, and, Robert notes, not without bitterness. “I guess I just want to know.”

 

Robert’s eyebrows go even higher, and he isn’t sure what to say, let alone what Paul _wants_ him to say. “Uh, well…you’re okay, I guess. You…” Paul is looking at him with those eyes of his, prodding him on. “You haven’t always been…smart, though. Or particularly wary of certain…consequences of your actions,”

 

Paul smiles slowly at him. “You mean like using contraceptives when I should have?”

 

Robert smiles despite himself. “Yeah, something like that.”

 

“Sometimes you don’t need contraceptives,” Paul says after a moment, his voice low.

 

Robert’s head snaps up, and he glares Paul right in the eyes, trying to read him but coming up against nothing but heat. The smile on Paul’s lips is a new one, strange and dangerous in a way that makes the hair on the back of Robert’s neck stand up.  

 

“I guess that answers my question,” Paul says calmly.

 

“What fucking question?” Robert snaps.

 

“What you think of me.” Paul says, that smile still on his lips. “A very interesting answer you have, too…”

 

Robert doesn’t want to know what Paul means by that. He is afraid of the answer.


End file.
